Tag Archives: fathers

Recently, I may have suggested my dad was only one of the great things to come out of Long Island. The truth is, not a lot of people can do the things my dad does. Like, he can read in the car without getting sick. And hemakes really good steak. Not at the same time; don’t be ridiculous.

Oh and when I was 2, I was way ahead of my time and awesome I saw a swimming pool and was like, “Deep end, here I COME!” Bam, I jumped in to join my older brother and sister, and my chubby bum sunk straight to the bottom. Without a second thought, my dad lept in to save me, breaking his glasses along the way.

I think that’s why we get along so well. I could have been all, “Well, you brought me into this world, it’s your job to keep me here,” but instead I was like, “Thanks for that, Pop. One day I’ll join the swim team and make you proud stay afloat.”

As if that wasn’t enough, he used to take me on father-daughter trips to Bowcraft, this tiny, creepy amusement park next to a highway, and then across the street to Burger King. Those were the days, back when trans fat was what was for dinner, and winning enough tickets to get chinese finger cuffs was all you needed.

My dad is also a genius. I mean, yeah, okay, the real kind with a doctorate and Ivy League-y things, but whatever. I mean the practical kind of genius. Street smarts. Case in point: We used to go on long road trips in a small car, with all three kids crammed in the backseat. It was a recipe for disaster. So he came up with something called the Points System. We earned points for being good, and got them taken away when we were bad.

If we didn’t have enough points by the time we got to Burger King, we weren’t eating.